Word of the Day - A Supernatural Series
by Fat Puppy
Summary: My new Supernatural Series of short stories based on Words of the Day and focusing on Sam and Deam. Read on for more explanation. Non-Slash.
1. Introduction

**Word of the Day - A Supernatural Series by Fat Puppy (formerly known on as Obi the Kid)**

Happy 2018 all!

To try and spur my writing for the new year, I've decided to take random Words of the Day from and fit short stories around them within this Word of the Day series.

Each chapter will be written around a different word and in the intro to each new chapter, I'll put the definition that I worked from.

All stories will focus on Sam and Dean with other characters tossed in when the fit.

All of my stories are non-slash and I try and make them as close to canon as possible.

Any missed typos are my own.

Thanks for reading!


	2. Nonpareil

**TITLE:** Nonpareil

 **SERIES:** Word of the Day

 **SUMMARY:** Jody and Sam watch Dean wrap up a case from across the parking lot. Jody POV. Takes place in the first half of Season 13.

 **DEFINITION of "Nonpareil** " - "Having no match or equal; unrivaled."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Your brother. He's a piece of work."

"Huh. Try living with him for 32 years."

I patted Sam Winchester on the back. "You're a better person than I am Sam. As much as I appreciate and love you boys, I'd have probably killed him years ago."

These boys had entered my life a number of years ago and as those years went by I learned more and more about them; their background, their childhood - or lack-there-of - and everything that made them tick. They were perhaps the finest men I'd ever met, but damn if that Dean didn't press enough buttons to make me want to elbow him in the face once in a while.

This was one of those times.

"You get used to him," Sam said as he shrugged. "He's a lot more complex than he thinks he is, you know. Most people see his surface, which in itself has quite a few layers. Very few though get a view of what's beneath." There was a pause as Sam watched his older brother's act from a distance. "That act there? That's all on the surface. What he wants people to see. It's how he puts distance between himself and the people we help."

That got my attention. Why would he want to put distance on a such positive thing? Saving people's lives. "Okay, so why exactly does he need to put distance between he and them? Seems you'd want to hang on to the victories and maybe savior them a bit?"

"It's so he won't get attached."

Yeah. Okay. Or not. Sam got a glance of my puzzled look and explained.

"If he gets attached, it gives him things to worry about other than the usual crap we deal with every day."

I snorted. "That's a lot of crap, Sam."

"Yeah." He smiled down at me. "It's one less burden on his shoulders if he can help someone and move on from them. So…distance. It doesn't always work though, even if he says it does, though I'm probably the only one who can see that."

I nodded knowingly as I said, "You can see past the surface."

"Most of the time. There are cracks. Very small ones, but they're there if you know how to spot them." Sam straightened his jacket and folded his fake FBI badge into his inner pocket. "This particular case was a problem from the start. Not so much the hunt, but the people that needed help. They were obstacles more than not and created more problems than the actual ghost itself. Not to mention the lack of truth they were spewing out with their story...a story that changed about 14 times. It's interesting that those we are trying to help can sometimes be less than cooperative. Whatever the reasons. These two though, they got under his skin. He was close to walking way from the job, but I convinced him to stay. It was still a ghost that was hurting people and we couldn't leave that open ended. So...hence the over-the-top aggressive show Dean is giving them. I'm sure it includes a fake lecture about how he'll be putting them on a fake federal watch-list for false reporting. And I f it happens again, this will happen and that will happen. And on and on. Dean can be intimidating and quite scary for those who cross him. Or to those who are just general idiots."

"I get it. I get it." Together, we leaned back onto the Impala to wait for Dean's fake FBI lecture at the opposite end of the parking lot to end. I had better understanding of things now. In fact each time I worked with these boys that always seemed to be the end result, but I still felt like smacking the older one around at times.

"Don't worry, Jody," Sam began. "You're not the only one who sometimes feels a pressing need to punch him in the face every now and then."

"Ah, did I just voice my thoughts out loud or something? How…"

Sam laughed. "The look on your face right now watching him. The clenched fist. Chewing on your bottom lip. I get it, Jody. Trust me, I do."

No doubt he did. Sam had been side by side with his brother almost 24/7 since birth. And aside from a brief stint at college, they lived out of each other's pockets. I suspected there were more than a few times that Sam felt as I did now. Just one whack across that smug Dean Winchester face and… Yeah. But, I also knew knew what Sam knew - though not to such depth – that if you were lucky enough to become one few that Dean allowed into that small, intimate circle he considered family, there was nothing he wouldn't do for you.

Dean Winchester. A true nonpareil in so many ways. There just wasn't anyone else like him anywhere. Ever. I felt fortunate to be in that circle, despite my need to offer him a piece of my mind once in a while.

"He'd die for you, Jody. In a second." Sam's voice brought me back. "You've been such a friend to us; such a support system. There aren't many that we can claim as part of our family. So…"

"Yeah, yeah, I get that too. And I'll keep that in mind when he gets his ass back over here and finishes terrorizing two don't-know-any-better teenagers in a public parking lot."

Sam smiled. So did I.

These boys. These damn boys. And I saw that Dean wasn't the only nonpareil in this pair...this pair that I had, in a way, adopted as my own.

I did keep my conversation with Sam in mind as Dean finally released the now terrified kids he'd just saved to 'get the hell out of his sight or he'd bring the wrath of the federal government down on them if the ghost didn't eat them first'. So, in other words, he sent them running in a panic for home, and then strode toward us.

"Sammy, let's roll! Those kids won't be lying again to anyone anytime soon. Thanks for the help, Jody. Always good to work with someone other than Sam and his annoying whiny mug." A warm smile that few others were ever privileged to crossed Dean's face. Directed at me, my need to elbow him in the gut retreated. Damn it.

Sam on the other hand…well, no. Sam gave his usual annoyed look, but took Dean in stride. He usually did. It was their way. They battled past their demons, lugged the weight of the world around on their shoulders, saved people, hunted things and made claim to the strongest and, to be honest, the most unhealthiest of sibling bonds. But all of it was what made them who they were.

And in my world, they had no equal.

The End


	3. Senectitude

**TITLE:** Senectitude

 **SERIES:** Word of the Day

 **SUMMARY:** Tag to "Into the Mystic" Season 11.

 **DEFINITION of "Senectitude" - old age**

 **0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000**

"Sam, gimme your phone, mine's dead."

"Who do you need to call?"

"No one. Gotta look up the word 'senectitude'."

"Why?"

"Mildred asked me if I ever thought about it."

"And since you didn't know what the word meant, what did you tell her?"

"Changed the subject."

"You do know how to spell it?"

"Of course I know how to..."

"You're spelling it wrong, Dean."

"How the hell do you know?"

"Because I know you. There's no 'k' in the word."

"Shut up."

"There's no 'a' in it either."

"Damn it, Sam. You and your nerdiness know this word. I know you do."

"I do."

"And?"

"And."

"I hate you sometimes. Just tell me what the freakin' word means, Sam."

"We've already established that we'll never make it to senectitude, so what does it matter if you know what it means or not?"

"Not the point, Sam. Here, take your damn phone back."

"Old age."

"What did you call me?"

"Old age. Senectitude means old age."

"Ah, oh. Well, crap. That's depressing."

"That you didn't know the meaning or how to spell it?"

"Yes, it was depressing that I don't know a definition of a dumb ass word. No, Sam. You know what I mean. You already said we won't be getting old."

"We are getting old, Dean. Just wait until tomorrow morning when the pain sets in from the Banshee attack. We're plenty old, we just won't be making it to old age."

"Senectitude."

"Right."

"Can we just go home now? I need breakfast and a nap and a beer. Or several beers. Maybe several naps."

"You're driving, old man."

"Maybe if we just drive for the hills, don't look back and give up hunting forever. Think we'd make it then?"

"Been there done that, Dean. Stanford. Amelia. Lisa. Ben."

"Yeah. Right. Damn. Okay, it was worth a shot. I guess we just take what we have and roll with it then?"

"Same as always. You've got me though. That's something."

"Yeah, Sammy, I guess it is. Let's go home."

The end


	4. Scourge

**TITLE:** Scrouge

 **SERIES:** Word of the Day

 **SUMMARY:** Dean crowds his brother while trying to avoid a spasming werewolf.

 **DEFINITION of "Scrouge** " - "To squeeze, press or crowd."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

'Dean, scoot the hell over."

"No way, Dude. That thing's not dead, I'm not going anywhere near it. Especially not after it drooled all over me with it's dog breath."

"It's dead. We shot it with a silver bullet."

"Then why it is twitching, Sam?"

"Cadaveric spasm."

"Wha...What?"

"Cada...postmortem spasm. Small muscles in the body sometimes twitch after death. I guess it can happen in werewolves just the same as humans. It's dead. Get off me."

"You and your freakin' fancy words. Such a nerd."

The brothers were mashed together in the backseat of the Impala. The dead werewolf splayed bloody across the seat next to them, inches from Dean's knees. They'd been seconds from being torn apart by the thing before Sam had managed to reach Dean's gun that had slid under the driver's seat during the struggle. With a single shot, he'd ended the creature and it flopped limp at their side.

Sam pushed at his brother who wasn't budging, but Dean did reach a wary finger out to poke the monster in the shoulder. When he did, it twitched again. Dean snatched his hand away and squeezed against his younger brother once more.

"Dean!"

"Sam, that thing has been giving us hell for a week now. Damn thing even got into my head and gave me nightmares. And I don't know about you, but I'm not ready to die in my own car because Mr. Twitchy there didn't bite it after you shot him."

"Can you at least get your elbow out of my stomach and stop kicking me in the shins with your heels? You're scourging me."

Dean went still and snuck a confused look up towards his brother. "I'm what?"

"Scourging me."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means get a dictionary and learn new words. You are a scourge. Get off me!"

Dean leaned backwards in defiance this time, pressing his back hard against his brother's chest, one foot carefully positioned at the werewolf's shoulder to keep it from spasming toward him the next time it moved. The older Winchester now crowded the younger even more. "Nope. Not until you tell me what the hell you just called me."

"You are such a child," Sam replied at he struggled to squirm away from Dean's spearing elbow of death.

"Sam."

"To squeeze, press or crowd. That's what it means. There, happy? Now get the hell off me!"

"Oh" Dean relented some of the pressure from his backwards lean. "I guess I am scrounging you then, huh?" Sitting up straight, kicking hard at the wolf and seeing no additional twitching, Dean retorted, "Okay. I'm good. It's dead. Let's burn the thing and go home."

He moved off of Sam, reached over the creature and opened the opposite side door before shoving it out with both boots. Landing on the cold ground with a muted thud, the wolf was then dragged fifty yards into the woods, not far off the desolate road they'd sped down while trying to shake the thing.

Gasoline sprayed. Match lit. And there was one less werewolf in the world.

Dean wiped his hands down his shirt and then onto his pants. "Werewolf drool. It's like sewer slime. All over me, that thing was so close. Oh wait...that means it was _scrounging_ me, right Sam?"

Sam rolled his eyes and sighed. A reaction he'd mastered. He was, after all, the younger sibling of Dean Winchester.

"That's what I thought. Here," Dean tossed the car keys to Sam. "I need a nap. You can drive and use the time to think of new dumbass words to use on our next hunt. Let's go home."

The end.


	5. Flotsam

**TITLE:** Flotsam

 **SERIES:** Word of the Day

 **SUMMARY:** Dean checks in with a worried Sam, not yet old enough for the hunting side of the family business. Sam is 11, Dean is 15.

 **DEFINITIONS of "Flotsam** ": 1. Goods found floating after a shipwreck. 2. People or things considered useless or unimportant.

* * *

"Hey ya, Sammy. Checking in. You good?"

"Dean, where are you?"

"Still working the case. Dad said it's a tough one. I got to kill a vampire though. That was awesome."

"You said you'd be home by now."

"Soon. How's school?"

"It's good. We learned a new word today, Dean."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, it's Floatsam. It means stuff found after a shipwreck and it also means people or things considered useless or unimportant."

"That's great, Sammy."

"Hey, Dean? Can I come to help on the job? I won't get in the way and I can be quick. I can..."

"Sammy..."

"Please, Dean."

"You need to stay home. You're not ready yet. It wouldn't be safe. And if something happened to you..."

"It won't, Dean. I can do it. I'm small right now, but I can be a hunter."

"One day. But you need to focus on school and let Dad and I take care of the job. I can't help Dad and look after you at the same time, Sam."

"You won't have to look after me. I'm strong and fast and I'm smart."

"I know you are, but not yet, okay? Just, not yet. We can wrap up this on our own and be home as soon."

"On your own. You don't need me then."

"Not right now, little brother."

"So, I'm a floatsam then. Useless and unimportant, right?"

"Sam, stop it. No one said that."

"But if you don't need me now, you'll never need me."

"I need you to say in school, study hard and learn everything you can. That's your job right now. And it's important."

"How is it important?"

"You'll find out one day."

"Dean, what if you and Dad get hurt and no one is there and what if you don't come back."

"We'll come back, I promise. You're not a floatsam, Sammy. You're not useless or unimportant. You're important to me, okay. You're my little brother and I need you to stay safe. So you hang tight and be ready for us when we come home, yeah?"

"Yeah. You promise you'll come back."

"Promise."

"You mean it, Dean?"

"I swear it. Have I ever let you down?"

"No. I'll see you soon then, right?"

"Right. Make sure you eat dinner and don't stay up too late. I promise I'll see you soon, Sammy."

"Okay, Dean. I'll see you soon."

* * *

The end


	6. Bogart

**Title: Bogart**

 **Series: Word of the Day**

 **Summary: Confined to a motel room because of snow, the boys battle over the laptop. Takes place during Season 12.**

 **Definition of "Bogart" - to hog or take more than the fair share of something.**

* * *

The heavy motel door slammed shut with a wind-driven thud; icy cold air sending a chill over the room. The boots of the incoming brothers stomped slush from the bottoms of their boots, staining the already discolored carpet.

The older of the two quickly found his chair at the small table. Dean Winchester was in a mood.

Sam Winchester was tired of it. The blizzard that had hit the Chicago-suburb town where they'd finished a job had grounded the Impala and most of the surrounding area until the snow stopped and roads could be cleared. Almost three days stuck in the same claustrophobic room had taken it's toll on these two who'd been sharing close space for majority of their lives.

Dean smirked at this younger brother from the table. Sam, hands on hips, was not amused.

"C'mon, man. You've been hogging it all day."

"I'm older, I get first dibs."

"Every time?"

"Um...yes."

"Dean."

"Stop whining, Sam. Play on your phone. The laptop is mine."

"Only because you put a bullet through mine and then left it to freeze in the snow, remember?"

Dean perched back in his chair, one hand maintaining contact with the laptop at all times.

"No, I left it to save your slow ass, is what happened. Unless you've forgotten the vamp that was about to suck you bloodless. It's not my fault it got caught in the crossfire. It gave it's life for you, Sam. And all you can do is whine. No respect. Oh and I need my computer time."

Sam approached the table and made a grab for it.

"Ahh! Remember the rule. He who maintains contact, keeps the prize."

"What?"

"I didn't take my finger off. So, it's not your move."

"Dean, this isn't checkers and we aren't ten. Just..." Another grab. This time Dean slapped the hand away.

"Back off, Bucko."

"Bucko? Really?"

"Dude, go watch TV or something."

"Dean, we get three channels. One of which is local programming. If I see one more commercial for Pizan Paulie's Pizza Paradise..."

"That pizza looked good. You should go get some for dinner."

"It's in the center of Chicago. We are not. And there's two feet of snow on the ground. We're having Snickers and Beef Jerky for dinner."

Dean made a face. "That's not a good combo, even for us. Tell me we have beer left."

Walking to the fridge, Sam smiled sneakily when he opened the door. "We do. There's one bottle left. One. Ice. Cold. Bottle. Sounds good about now, I think I will."

Jumping up from the table, Dean protested immediately. Sam caught him. "Hah! Your hand's off the computer. I can claim it. Give it. It's my turn."

" _Give it._ _It's my turn_. Maybe _you_ are ten. I'll make you a deal. Gimme the beer and you get the computer for a half hour."

"Whatever. I get it for the rest of the evening. You can watch your Anime porn crap after I'm asleep and you've locked yourself in the bathroom."

"Gimme the beer, Sam."

"Give me the computer, Dean."

"Gimme the beer."

"Give me the computer."

"Beer."

"Computer."

"You don't even want the damned beer. Give it."

"You are only claiming the computer to be an ass."

"So, what's your point, Sam?"

"Fair trade. I get the laptop for the evening. You get the last beer we're gonna have for who knows how long. Or...I could just drink it."

"Fine." Dean stood and removed his hand from the computer. "Take the stupid thing. Gimme the damned beer." Snatched from Sam's hand, the beer was twisted open and clunked onto the table, grasped protectively in Dean's hands.

"Dude, I'm not gonna take your beer."

"Shut up, Sam. Play with your...my laptop. And don't screw with my shortcuts."

"I'm not going near your shortcuts."

"Good. So you think we're really stuck here for another few days?"

Sam shrugged. "At least. The roads are terrible and the Impala is the worlds worst snow car. If you want to keep it in one piece, I'd suggest waiting."

"Baby ain't goin' nowhere until she can be safe."

"That's what I figured." Closing the laptop shut, Sam collected it under his arm, grabbed his coat and headed for the door. "I'll be back."

"Where ya going? We're grounded, remember?"

"We are, but there's a liquor store a block away. It's open. I checked when I was out at the vending machine." Sam enjoyed the moment. It wasn't often he got one over on his brother, but when he did, he took the time to treasure it.

"What the hell, Sam! That wasn't the last freakin' beer and there's an entire store full of the stuff a block away?"

"What can I say, Dean? You should pay more attention to your surroundings sometimes. We drove right by the place before we checked into the motel."

"I hate you, Sammy. I really do hate you sometimes."

"I know. Next time you'll think about it before you brutalize my laptop and get weirdly possessive over yours."

"Vampire, Sam. Vampire."

"You shot my computer after the vamp was dead, dude."

Dean looked puzzled. "I did not. Wait. Did I? Oh, I did. Why'd I do that?"

"Well, you do enjoy a good vamp kill and you tend to get overexcited at times."

"I do." He couldn't disagree with that one. The poor defenseless laptop apparently was a victim of that enthusiasm. "Okay, this one's on me. Keep the computer until we get out of here, but see if that liquor store has food, man. Snickers and beef jerky? Really?"

"They do. They even have a menu online."

"Holding back on me again, Sammy." Dean shook his head what he tried to convey as disbelief, but it came off not so much as that, but as pride; pride in the baby brother he'd raised to be a conniving sneak when the right situation came along. "Well, done little brother. Well done."

Accepting the compliment and affectionate wink from his brother, Sam smiled and zipped his jacket. He kept the computer tucked under his arm as he headed out the door. Kept it close to him, just in case. Because he knew his big brother. Knew all his plays. All his games. He wasn't about to let the laptop out of his possession until they were out of this crappy motel, on the road, behind the wheel of the Impala and headed for home.

* * *

The End


	7. Groggy

**TITLE:** Groggy

 **SERIES:** Word of the Day

 **SUMMARY:** Sam POV as he deals with a cursed/drunken Dean. Takes place early Season 13. Mary makes an appearance as well.

 **DEFINITION of "Groggy" -** Dazed, weak, or unsteady, as from lack of sleep, tiredness, sickness, intoxication, etc.

* * *

I dropped Dean on the bed, pulled his boots off and put him on his side with a pillow behind his back.

"S'my whdthell?"

"Can't have you on your back. You could drown in your own vomit." I stacked a second pillow behind him.

"Wha H'ppn?"

A small towel grabbed from the top of his dresser and I set it bedside.

"You're drunk, remember? More like double drunk."

Drunk was the only word for it. In reality, Dean had been nailed with a witch spell that had been cast on him after he'd tried to kill the witch we'd just helped...as our client. In all fairness, she had failed to provide us with some key information about the job. The lack of which almost left us with our heads separated from our bodies. So, I couldn't blame Dean for trying to off her. In order to escape, she'd spelled an intensified drunken curse on him that had him instantly puking up what seemed like his ten most recent meals and then left him feeling like he'd been on 72 hours of all day/all night binges. The witch did shout something about 24 hours before she'd vanished, so there was an end game to the thing. We hoped. Before that though, there was a long day of crappy.

A few hours later, finally home, here we were. Dean barely able to stand and me covered in my brother's vomit.

Mom was at the bunker, back from a hunt, when we'd gotten home. She asked about him as we hurried by. I told her I'd explain, but she followed me down the hall instead because when I turned from Dean after the second pillow, she was there in the doorway.

"Sam, please tell me what is happening. What's wrong with him?"

Dean, in all his intoxicated glory muttered, "Grgy. D'mwich."

"Right." I said, in complete understanding of the slurred speech. "He's groggy because of a damn witch, is what he said. Long story, Mom, but basically a witch threw a curse on him that makes him horribly drunk, or rather the aftermath of it. He'll be fine...eventually. Just need to keep him..." Dean groaned behind me and one of the two pillows came flying past. "Damn it, Dean." I stuffed the pillow behind his back again and held his arm still against his hip. "Leave it alone. I mean it. You need to lay on your side until you stop puking."

"Yer m'n. Lemmebe. Mm'ok."

"Whatever. Just stop moving and stop talking."

Mom stepped into the room and in true parental fashion, felt Dean's forehead for fever before running a hand through his hair. And as expected, Dean batted the hand away.

"S'my stop. M'fine."

"That's Mom, Dean."

"Man. Didn' wan mom seein' me..."

"Shut up, Dean." Mom said. Having listened to his mumbling long enough. "You are feeling bad. Your brother and I are going to take care of you. Deal with it."

Dean's head turned into the pillow as his face paled. I prepped the nearby trash can just in case, releasing my bedside position to our mom. "He's not used to people taking care of him, Mom. That's usually his job to take care of everyone else, even when he's feeling like hell. Turnabout, Dean. Now you've gotta deal with not just me looking after you, but Mom too."

"G'rt." There was a brief pause before what came next. "S'my?"

Already moving in, I said, "Yeah, I know. Hang on."

Mom pushed back a foot to give me room to shove the trash can under his chin and hold his head forward. Timing. Perfect. After years of practice, this was one of so many things I knew like clockwork about my brother.

I released his head when I knew he'd finished and pulled the trash can away. "He's okay, Mom. Well, he will be. I think. He'll be groggy for a while and then tomorrow morning. It's only a 24 hour spell."

"A 24 hour spell? Really? And are you sure about all this, Sam? He looks like Hell cooled over. Sounds like it too."

She was concerned. Having just returned to our lives months ago, and having last known us as young children, it was to be expected. She was a mom after all; we were her kids. And to be honest, it felt good to have someone to worry with. Dean and I had been on our own, with only each other for a long time. We worried about the other constantly, especially in times when one of us was down. And while normally I didn't fret too much about a drunken, hungover Dean, anytime there was involvement by a witch in anything we did, there was cause for concern.

Still, this didn't appear to be anything more than Dean feeling like crap for a while. It was making him more miserable than a normal day-after, but as long as the worst of it all was vomiting and extreme grogginess, we'd manage.

And in the end, that's all it was. He survived the night without too much additional drama, but seeing him stagger into the kitchen the following morning unable to keep his knees from buckling every two steps and shading his eyes from anything resembling light...I had to feel for him. Unlike past times, this wasn't anything of his own doing.

I grabbed an arm before he fell on his face and pulled him to the seat. "Mornin'."

He held a hand toward me, palm out. "Stop. Talking. It is foggy in here? Why do I feel like I've been run over by a semi?"

"Witch spell, remember?"

"Oh. Ah. Crap." I shook my head as he lay his down on the table on crossed arms. "Is the bunker spinning?"

"No, just your head."

"Great. Dreamt 'bout mom. Kept hearin' her voice."

"Mom was here, Dean. She left early this morning for a job, once she saw you'd be okay."

"Huh. I didn't puke all over her, did I?"

I sat a glass of orange juice in front of him. "No, but you did keep swatting her hand away from your face."

Dean's groggy unclear eyes glanced up at me over the rim of the glass as he sipped the juice. "Oh. That wasn't you then? Thought you kept touchin' my hair."

"No, Dean, I wasn't touching your hair. That was mom trying to make your feel better. Trying to be a mom. You know, what you keep harpin' on her about?"

"Yeah, yeah". He waved me away with a hand and began the process of standing. I pushed him back down.

"Sit. Stay. Your hangover nitrates are on the stovetop."

He sniffed the air. "Yes, I do love bacon." Rubbing at the corners of his eyes, Dean asked again about Mom. "She was here all night? You told her it was a spell, right? She didn't think I was out getting drunk on a job."

"Yes, Dean. I told her it was a spell."

"She comin' back after her hunt?"

"Dunno. She didn't say."

"Figures." Dean ran his hand over his unshaved face and unwashed hair. "This hangover sucks. M'head feels like it weighs a ton."

"Not your normal hangover. You know how witches can be."

"Yeah, okay. M'gonna go lay back down. See if it clears."

The orange juice finished, Dean rose slowly and glanced at the bacon in the pan.

"Still frying up," I said. "I'll bring you a plate when it's done. Go back to bed. Here." I held out three Tylenol for him. "If the spell holds at 24 hours, you still have plenty of time to feel like crap."

"Yeah. Good. Okay. Back to bed. Wake me for bacon."

"Yup."

"I mean it, Sam, don't be hoggin' it all. And eggs. Scrambled. Not that fake egg-white junk that you love. Actual _real_ eggs from actual chickens with fatty yolks and everything. And coffee. Black. Caffeine."

"Dean."

"Don't Dean me."

"Dean."

"What?"

"What are you doing?"

Dean stopped his action and looked confused. He was facing the far corner of the kitchen and talking to the pipe that ran vertically along the kitchen wall.

"Ah. Okay, so I'm a little groggy still. But this pipe does kinda look like you. Tall, skinny and nerdy."

"Yeah. Whatever." I took hold of his shoulders and turned him to the entry to the hall, pushing him through and to the right towards his room. "Go on, now."

He started shuffling down the hall. And a sight he was. One sock pulled up over his sweats. The other missing in action. Every other step staggered toward the wall and pushing himself upright. Once I was sure he'd gotten to his room without falling on his face, I returned to the kitchen to finish cooking our breakfast. He was sound asleep by the time it was done and I delivered the plate to his room. I left him to sleep it off, setting the food and coffee on his nightstand. Mom buzzed my phone, texting to check on him. Dean would be disappointed he'd missed her again, but he'd be happy with bacon. He was always happy with bacon.

The curse lifted right around the 24 hour mark. The grogginess vanished and the bacon long gone. And then we were out on the road the next day, saving people and hunting things.

We stopped for more bacon on the way though.

* * *

The end.


End file.
